


you couldn't save her.

by littlewitchhazels



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, F/M, So much angst, dh1, mainly corvo-centric with mentions of other characters, mentions of torture, playing around with structure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-20 07:36:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12427989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlewitchhazels/pseuds/littlewitchhazels
Summary: Behind closed eyes were the images branded into his thoughts; slender frame lying on the ground like a broken doll, gasping for air in wet rasping breaths, clouded eyes staring at nothing, bleeding out from an ugly wound puncturing her torso.





	you couldn't save her.

It was the nights that were the hardest, when he truly, deeply, missed Jessamine. Her raven black hair spilling across the pillows, the gentle rise and fall of breath tickling his skin, bright eyes gazing into his with a look that belonged to him and him alone. Oh, how he yearned for her, but alas she was gone. All gone. And behind closed eyes were the images branded into his thoughts; slender frame lying on the ground like a broken doll, gasping for air in wet rasping breaths, clouded eyes staring at nothing, bleeding out from an ugly wound puncturing her torso.

YOU COULDN’T SAVE HER.

Her. Beautiful, lovely, graceful, kind, regal. There was no word captivating nor compelling enough to tell of her true loveliness. In dreams, she was there, as beautiful and regal as always. Fleeting memories of private moments and secret romance tugging at the back of his mind as if nothing had changed. But everything had. What used to be was torn away in the blink of an eye, in the form of a cruel steel blade thrust through her delicate body. Oh how quickly she crumpled to the marble floor, blood staining the pristine white surface, her fire extinguished ever so swiftly in his arms. Those beautiful pale eyes, regal features, and raven hair… Such a strong woman rendered so fragile in her final moments. And never again would he hear her laugh or call his name, nor would he hold her in his arms ever again. The last time he did, she bled out on the flagstones and on his coat. Warm and sticky, staining everything in an ugly blaring red. 

YOU COULDN’T SAVE HER.

Never had he let himself shed a single tear over her death. He could not — would not. The dreadful tormentors that broke his fingers and branded his skin could never dream of designing a torture worse than the pent up emotions and agonising guilt that festered in his heart like a disease. He would cry if not for how hoarse and parched his throat was from thirst and the screams of pain torn from his lips with each crack of the whip. And he needed to stay strong. For Emily. Especially for Emily — his sweet darling Emily. The last light of this dark existence. His last remaining fragment of Jessamine. What he'd do to keep her safe, to hold her in his arms again, to protect her from the cruel world that took her mother away.

YOU COULDN’T SAVE HER.

And then the Outsider came, with his shrouded words and playful musings, with… Her heart. That twisted thing — mechanical and broken — pumping to the rhythm of empty souls and death, yet whispering mysterious with an oh-so familiar voice. Her voice. Another reminder of what had come to pass, and what would never be. But, even as she begged for death, for release from the endless purgatory and damnation, he could not find it in his own heart to give it to her. That last, faint whisper of her voice… The only companionship he had. From that day on, he kept that heart, her heart, close to his own. Jessamine would always be, quite literally, close to his heart. 

YOU COULDN’T SAVE HER.

Sometimes, alone in his dark dreary room, he wondered: If only he had been quick enough, if only he had known, if only he had tried harder, if only he had never left her side. To many thoughts of what could have been — what should have been — missed with the action and turmoil of the present, muddling the world into a dream-like blur. It was the quiet moments, the nights and the agonising wait between missions, when he had time to think and time to dream of the impossible. If only he could have saved her, but alas… He could not. All he could do was live with the impossible burden of lover now lost, and a world turned dark from the absence of her light.


End file.
